


Untitled (8 March '03)

by Hope



Series: Untitled Lotrips ficlets [10]
Category: Lord of the Rings RPF, Real Person Fiction, lotrips
Genre: Ficlet, Multi, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-03-08
Updated: 2003-03-08
Packaged: 2017-10-02 13:31:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hope/pseuds/Hope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>http://angstslashhope.livejournal.com/224718.html</p></blockquote>





	Untitled (8 March '03)

The first time Elijah brings a girl home, he wakes up with his mouth full of someone else's hair and a headache. _First difference_, he thinks, then thinks _heh, maybe not the first_, as alcohol-addled memory pushes its way through the tiny swollen pain-fibres throbbing in his brain. Short hair does have its pluses, one of those things he's taken for granted for quite a while now, and he makes a note of it now in the corner of his mind reserved for such things.

Kelly has short hair but not short-short hair, and it's gel-stuck and tousled when he pulls open the screen door at the back of the house and stumbles towards the coffee machine. She's in her pajamas and she pulls her face up into a pout and talks loudly. "Where's Hannah?" he mumbles, and she drops the 'ooOOOoo' jibing tone to shrug around a mouthful of toast: "Shower."

"Big night last night?" he asks, and Kelly waits for the tinny, industrial roar of the coffee machine to drop out again before grinning and answering,

"Not as big as yours!"

Hannah pads out in bare feet as the triple-strength coffee is dripping sluggishly into the white cups, peering over his shoulder and towelling dry her hair. She raises an eyebrow and he pretends not to see it. "Sure you don't want me to make you hair of the dog?" Kelly offers and Hannah groans in protest. "Don't let her! Remember what happened _last_ time." Elijah laughs.

It's a struggle to juggle with the door handle and the cups at the same time, but he's only pushing it this time and he's left the door to the bungalow unlatched so it's easy enough to push open with his foot, slide around, then nudge it closed again with his hip.

The air in the bungalow is close and thick, especially in comparison with the air in the yard, which is just gearing up into late morning, the sun almost high enough to eat up the shadow over the lawn. He sets the cups carefully on the bedside table and pulls the curtains open, winding the window as a groan of protest comes from the bed behind him. Franka bitterly mumbles a curse in German and Dom laughs, hoarse, sleep-choked voice muffled in the pillow. "Morning!" Elijah says cheerily.

**Author's Note:**

> http://angstslashhope.livejournal.com/224718.html


End file.
